Varapira

A shoot out in the desert

    "Mother, We're rich!"
 Cried Horace as he galloped down the stairway.
    "I know."
Replied his mother, adjusting her bonnet in the hallway mirror. She was an attractive woman of forty. Wide in the hips and with a haughty manner that commanded respect, she ran the household from a distance. It was the maids who took most of the responsibility for raising the child.
    "Oh. But I found gold under my bed!" Said the boy. Six years old and already showing the inquisitive appeal that drew his mother to his father ten years before. That and significant estates in Vermont and Massachusetts, a fortune in the bank and a large stake in a railroad operation that would shape the country.
    "Well, dear, I suggest you spend it wisely." She advised. "I'll be back for tea. Stay out of trouble. Give Mommy a kiss, now. There's a good boy." And with that, she glided out of the front door, parasol in hand.
    Horace raced back upstairs to safeguard his find. It did not seem unreasonable to him that in his world of wealth, a little gold should find it's way to him. After all, Papa talked about it often in his meetings with the bankers and businessmen who frequently called at the house. He'd seen gold watches, gold necklaces and earrings, and now there were shiny discs of very pretty metal waiting for him to arrange. He decided, as he leapt up the stairs three at a time, that stacks of ten would look best, perhaps lined up on the dresser in the parlour.
    They were gone. A veritable mountain of gold was simply no longer there. It had only been seconds that he was away from it, no one could possibly have moved it, besides, Lallie's work kept her scrubbing clothes in the basement, so it couldn't have been her. Horace stood, bemused, in the centre of his bedroom, and sobbed quietly.

    At the same moment, near the staging town of Varapira in the desert Southwest, four men in dusty ponchos were anxiously reloading their pistols. The sun shone down ferociously into the cluster of boulders where the men crouched. Henry Golding had come west in search of wealth. He had found it. It was lying on the ground in two leather bags, beside the dead body of his horse, just a stone's throw away. The mare had been a magnificent companion. tall, strong and swift, she was white with brown blotches and looked like clouds in the sky. Now she lay with her belly open and pools of rich blood percolating from her head. The view of the animal was continually smeared by the dusty sweat that dripped from Henry's head down into his eyes. He wiped his face with a sleeve, but that only scratched his eyes further and caused him pain.
    "I told ye, I'm gonna give ye covering' fire. Git on, Henry!" Charlie Lear had been instrumental in the robbery. He had taken some delight in shooting the bank manager dead. There really had been no need. The alarm had already been raised; nothing more could be done.  Charlie had panicked and allowed his spite to control him.
    Henry took a sideways look at his companions as they fired shots at targets on the other side of the wash. The medicinal smell of chaparral was everywhere, as though the desert itself were bleeding. Ben Cook was not firing his gun. He was lying back against a rock with his eyes closed. Perhaps he's tired, thought Henry as he rolled out into the wash towards the corpse of the animal. Lead fangs had ripped through his legs and one through his hip. At least that's how it felt. "How can something so small hurt so much?" He demanded as he lay down by his horse and went into shock.
    "Henry!" Shouted Jack Finch. "You OK?"
    "No."
    "Stay there!" Was the response. Jack had been the inside man. He worked for the railroad and knew the time, the amount and the location of the payments for the labourers, the steel mills back east, the directors' salaries... it all went through him at some point. He had only been a minor accountant, but his employers trusted him. His well-trimmed moustache was now hardened with blood that had flowed from his nose after an encounter with an energetic customer of the bank. They had all heard the crack as Jack's nose had broken in the scuffle. In that moment, a sudden flash of paranoia had permeated the band of men; this was real. It wasn't a plan any more, it wasn't a dream, a daring escapade. It was real and vicious and hurting like only reality can.
    Jack came out from the cover of the rocks, screaming and firing, deranged with the guilt of a plan gone wrong. He made it to where Henry was lying, kneeled by the horse and put a strong hand under the wounded man's back. Grabbing a fistful of leather, he pulled Henry back towards the safety of the rocks.
    "The bags!" Shouted Henry.
    Too late, Jack had been shot, and he lunged into a cluster of spiny cacti. He barked in pain. The spikes sticking into his ribs were more painful than the bullets that had punctuated his cheek. Henry was close enough to crawl back to the shelter of the boulders. It was a beautiful spot, he observed. If the situation were different, he would like to have a small cabin here, perhaps with those same cacti at the front door.
    Ben was still lying down. Charlie had stopped firing, a hole in his chest having impaired his aim. Jack was twitching in agony in his green cage. The sun beamed down, but felt like rain. Pine trees seemed to grow from between Henry's fingers, and tickled him with their young fronds. He could hear something rhythmic in the centre of the group. A rattler, perhaps, a singing rattler. But it was a woman, a brown woman with braids. Who knows where she had come from. She was concentrating very intently on something while standing upright and shaking a gourd in her hand. Henry could still see Ben at the other side of the woman. He could see Ben through her. It didn't seem that strange, of course.
    Why would Ben be sleeping now, he wondered? I should tell him about the trees. He'd like that; and the singing woman.
    Ben smiled across to him. Henry smiled back.
    "Oh, you know." Thought Henry.
    "Yes, I know.'" Thought Ben.
    Charlie was coughing blood onto the front of his shirt.
    "Which place, Charlie?" Asked Henry. Charlie was unable to answer. He just stared at his boots and blew red bubbles.
    "How about you, Jack, do you like the trees? The singing makes them grow. I'm staying in the trees!"
    "Henry!" Cried Jack. His speech was slurred. "Henry help me!"
    Henry lay back and felt the pine trees swell underneath and around him. He stood in this new cool glade and caught Ben's gaze. They smiled in wonder. After some time, Charlie joined them. They sat down on the sweet smelling pine needles and waited.

   
 

Reviews

[Narnie]

Again I am struck by your powerful ability to enrich all the senses in the reader. The glistening words of the first part, which left us in no doubt as to the excitement of the gold and the stench and sweat of the second part. This is fabulous writing... although the genre is 'man's' stuff (lol) I am kept interested by the wonderful imagery. Congratulations. This deserves many readers.

[Lauren Xena Campbell]

Your narrative is better then JK Rowling, this is really rather brilliant!

[An Ordinary Woman]

Excellent work here as usual. The narrative was the best I have seen, and that is really hard to pull off but you did it smoothly and professionally. This was a pleasure to read, the ending was a surprise and that makes it even better. I am honored to read your work.

Very impressed, and like Narnie mentioned, it and you deserve many readers.
You write, and they will come!

Congratulations on a remarkable piece of work !

[Tanis Eagles Miller]

I loved the disconnect between the little boy and western. Though, i cannot help but imagine that that the boy is dreaming the western sequence just as he imagined the gold under his bed. Either that, or as your description suggested, that he somehow got the treasure from the robbers.

Your story is original. I loved it.

[Wulfstan Crumble]

Andrew, it is a pleasure to encounter your work. My gratitude to Narnie for introducing me to you. As a man i should really enjoy this. And i did. This is a magical piece and random too. Starting off with a little boy and the disappearing gold then moving to a western which ends in a cool glade. You painted the pictures well, the dialogue was great and believeable, and the action works really well. This is a great little piece.